Novella Three Christine Part Eleven

One of Carl's calves lept in the late sunlight of a long May twilight. The calf bounded up and down the little hills on the far side of the loess hills. Golden clouds mirrored the golden hills as thin clouds raced across the sky moving towards the east. Several Black Angus stood in the cool copse of trees, worrying Scullery Maid, who did not like the intruders.

The long, long winter passed quickly once May came, and now the temperature soared to the eighties. Scullery Maid swished horse flies away with her long tail as she munched on the new green grass. In the distance, clouds of dust flew up into the air as a train of trucks rumbled down the gravel road at the edge of the farm, depositing new gravel for the summer. Uncle Jay once remarked that the county sure spent a lot of money on the four pick-up trucks and two cars one could see per week on the old road.

Uncle Jay walked slowly to Sunset Cottage. The door was locked and barred. Addie sniffed around the porch, but soon saw pheasants in the fields behind the little house and ran away chasing these majestic birds.

One flew up and for a minute, Uncle Jay wished he had his gun with him. But, then, it was not the right season for pheasant hunting and he was strict about his hunting practices. The only things one could kill at this time of year were spring turkeys and coyotes.

Uncle Jay opened the cottage latch, unlocking the bolt and went in. He looked around the walls as if searching for something. In Christine's old bedroom, on the duck-egg blue wall, he found the old painting of Lady Elizabeth Christine Magdalen Thatcham. Taking it off the wall, he wrapped it up in brown paper he had brought from the Big House and carried it out of the cottage. Then, he quietly and slowly locked up the cottage again. Addie, who had come back and followed Uncle Jay into the house came out with him but plopped down on the porch. The Sheltie looked up to Jay with its big eyes as if to say, "I am staying here for the rest of the day and you can't make me move. I just flushed out pheasants for you for no reason."

Uncle Jay left the dog there and walked back into the mud-room. Then, he changed his shoes, finally going into the kitchen, to the large stove to fix some coffee. He shook his head and used the matches to light the gas ring. One of these days, he thought, I shall have to clean out those holes.

Uncle Jay filled an old thermos full of the coffee, wrapped up the painting more securely in the brown paper, and went back to the mud-room, where he changed into his walking shoes.

Then, he slowly went in the direction of the cavern in the copse. He had grabbed his largest flashlight and a walking stick to use in the cave. In twenty minutes or so, Uncle Jay was standing in front of the iron lattice white gate, using the old key to open it up.  He laid the painting and thermos on a small table, moving slowly on the right to walk to the chapel. The chapel door was unlocked as there were three men praying the proper Liturgy of the Hours of the day. Fr. James, Tom, and Marcus said the prayers in antiphonal manner, in great reverence and calm. Uncle Jay knelt down in the last pew and joined them, after picking up an extra Breviary in the back when he walked in. In the cool air, the priest read the reading for the First Vespers of Sunday.

²² But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.

²³ For if a man be a hearer of the word, and not a doer, he shall be compared to a man beholding his own countenance in a glass.

²⁴ For he beheld himself, and went his way, and presently forgot what manner of man he was.

Stay with us, Lord, alleluia. For it is getting towards evening, alleluia.

Then, Fr. James intoned a chant for the Magnificat anthem. 

Hitherto, you have not asked anything in My Name. Ask, and you shall receive. Alleluia.

The priest's thoughts went back to his discussion with Christine in January, when she confided her visions to him. He knew who was calling her by name. Christ wanted her for Himself, as His bride. She knew this as well, in the secret depth of her heart. Uncle Jay and Fr. James managed to take her to the nuns in Nebraska. Fr. James had never seen her so happy. She, indeed, looked like a young bride. She was accepted readily, despite being a year or so over the age limit. But, in the middle of her postulancy, in late April, soldiers broke into the convent and murdered all the nuns. There was an uproar, an investigation, but nothing happened to the perpetrators. Witnesses in the neighboring farm near the convent told other Catholics that the men were American Army soldiers. Some witnesses said the nuns were hiding priests, who were never found. My Lady, who had become, My Little Nun, was gone.

Fr. James added the name of Sr. Elizabeth Christine Magdalen to his list of souls for whom to pray in the back of his Breviary. But, the brother knew that the Church Militant hidden in the golden hills of Iowa was protected by a golden saint in heaven.

When he had the courage to do so, Fr. James looked up the history of Lady Elizabeth Christine Magdalen Thatcham. Here is what he read in an old book found in Iona's things in the small, tiny, attic of Sunset Cottage. Uncle Jay had known some books were there wrapped in paper, but had neglected to tell Christine. Some were from England and very old; in fact, crumbling into dust when one touched them.

Elizabeth Christine Magdalen Thatcham, Canoness of the Order of  the Dames of St. Augustine, former Lady Thatcham. Martyred in Walsingham along with the sub-prior of the said Priory of Walsingham, while visiting the Augustinians of that sacred place  April 30, 1537, in Martyrs' Field.